


come back later, no one is home

by rabble_dabble_writes



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Character Death, Death, Heavy Angst, Prison Arc, Spoilers, i wrote this JUST TODAY, just pretend i am not making a single mistake, no beta we die like...oh wait....., some things are just the canon in my head, some things may be wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29788206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabble_dabble_writes/pseuds/rabble_dabble_writes
Summary: The wind washes over the overgrown grass that has overcome destruction time and time again. The weeds, although beautiful, have been left to fend for themselves, and they’re overtaking the very small, very pitiful carrot garden that has also been left to overgrow. No one has picked them for quite some time, and their leaves are sprouted but altogether left untouched, except for the gentle guide of the wind. The dirt has shifted and crumbled, just a bit, but no one has come to fix up its sad state of decay. There is dirt that has gathered on chests, in a stone room, and mildew grows in the corners of the deepest rooms below.It needs a healing touch. No one is home.
Kudos: 64
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	come back later, no one is home

The wind washes over the overgrown grass that has overcome destruction time and time again. The weeds, although beautiful, have been left to fend for themselves, and they’re overtaking the very small, very pitiful carrot garden that has also been left to overgrow. No one has picked them for quite some time, and their leaves are sprouted but altogether left untouched, except for the gentle guide of the wind. The dirt has shifted and crumbled, just a bit, but no one has come to fix up its sad state of decay. There is dirt that has gathered on chests, in a stone room, and mildew grows in the corners of the deepest rooms below.

It needs a healing touch. No one is home.

* * *

Ranboo has been awake for most of the morning, but he has begun to get distracted. He wouldn’t say he has let himself do so - no, it’s the slight chatter buzzing in the air that has caught his attention. Philza has told him that it will take a long while to get used to the noise, and even longer to understand what they have to say. Technoblade tells him that he, on most occasions, just ignores them, because most of the time they are less than helpful. Ranboo likes to believe that they  _ are  _ helpful, given the chance, but the voices are as much jokesters as they are helpers. 

Well,  _ try  _ to help. Not that they ever  _ do. _

But the noise feels different today, and not like the kind that overruns Ranboo’s mind with horrible, inflicting thoughts. Today, it feels like panic and drowsiness, as if there is some change in the weather that has brought upon the jumpy force that is the voices. 

It feels like a warning, if any of his lessons with Techno could affirm it. It feels like there is a change.

But Ranboo sees no change, aside from the storm that has begun to brew up ahead. A snowflake lands on his arm, jolting him away from the confusing wave of thoughts as it melts on his exposed hand. He shakes it, trying to shake away the pain, and cursing the foresight of bringing his netherite gloves. 

He wonders, briefly, if he could have seen this storm coming. 

“Ranboo, mate! Let’s get inside, it looks like a storm’s come about!”

The panicked voices are overcome with feelings of family and care. He turns and smiles at Phil, who is concerningly waving him over, and he answers back with an, “Okay!”

He had wanted to go visit Tubbo, possibly. That can wait, when the storm is over, as he bets that there will still be enough light to see his friend. 

* * *

Captain Puffy has so much to do, and it makes her so, so tired. She enjoys the joys of celebrating a day, or just the excitement of a new adventure (as it always did give a jolt of electricity in her bones) but everything now just feels... _ so  _ much. She still has so much to do, far places to go, to check up on her friends and her family and her little ducklings-

_ Duckling,  _ she reminds herself. No longer was she a parent of two. 

But she couldn’t remain on that. She still has so much to do, so much to accomplish, to create the safe world that the others deserved. Not everyone is as powerful as Technoblade, remember, and it’s why she must keep an eye on her duckling and the other children, find out where Bad has gone once again and make sure he isn’t leading anyone else towards the egg, to recap information with Awesamdude, to check up with Tommy-

She hasn’t seen Tommy for a while. It worries her, that boy, along with others. Tubbo seemed to be thriving wonderfully in Snowchester, and she last saw Ranboo with Technoblade (a choice, while hesitant to fully trust in, she believed with all her heart would keep him protected for now). But she cannot recall the last time she saw Tommy, and it worries her so much, to think that he could be somewhere else and hurt-

She shakes her head, closing her book. No, she can’t just focus on one thing, as much as she wants to. She has to make sure  _ everyone  _ is safe, not just Tommy.

...her mind wanders back to her little duckling. 

She thinks of him in that small obsidian cage, alone, perhaps frightened. 

_ He deserves it,  _ one part of her heart goes. It is the true part, that shines in gold and in heroic scripture.

But the smaller part of her heart, the one that aches, still beats too. She pushes away the thoughts. Foolish is her little duckling now, and her focus is on keeping everyone safe. 

From the Eggpire, from the wars, from- from-

_ She watches, from the side, as they take her duckling away. He has done many villainous things. Tommy is nearly a symbol of all of it. _

_ She tares her gaze away from him, when he catches her eyes.  _

No. 

She flicks away the tear with her thumb effortlessly, stuffing the journal into her inventory and starting her list of tasks to do today. 

Perhaps she will go visit Niki, or maybe Snowchester. Perhaps she will let herself have a little fun today, and visit Tubbo, and ask him if he might know where Tommy is.

* * *

Since the finish of the outside, Tubbo has been tasked with the setting-up of the inside. This is because he may or have may not skipped out on helping Ranboo build the hotel just a  _ little  _ and now Ranboo told him he’d better have the inside of the entrance done _ or else.  _ And while Tubbo would like to call his absolute bullshit on it, he also feels bad enough to actually get started on finishing their little project.

It feels right, Tubbo thinks, to build this. To build once again. Snowchester felt amazing to plan out and build up and finish, from his home to the homeless of the crater that was L’manburg (for the third time) and helping many find their way to peaceful lands. Well, perhaps not  _ peaceful,  _ but certainly self-established and alive. Lively, in a way that Tubbo’s presidency over the other land never felt like. He always felt stress and hurt and an ache in his chest there, whilst in Snowchester it felt like freedom and joy and a sigh of relief. 

Most certainly due to the fact he is  _ alive,  _ but he often chooses to shelve that certain train of thought. 

Still, he can’t help but finally feel  _ excited  _ for this! He doesn’t know, exactly, who could come along and want to rent a room here, but just the idea that someone would want it is...appealing. As if the history of the stone he has touched or the wood he places down doesn’t equal to destruction or betrayal, and it’s just a place for someone to rest. 

Well, that’s most likely why he likes it then. A place of rest, something he didn’t quite have before. Especially not with Tommy around. 

Tubbo gives a huff as he places down another chair. He looks down the road a little ways, spotting the towering red building that was  _ Big Innit Hotel. _

Except for the scribbles that claims it Jack Manifold’s - Tubbo had rented over the entire hotel out, just to appease Jack, just to shut up his claims over the hotel that he had no right to. 

Even though Jack’s problem was with Tommy, it still burned Tubbo’s blood just a bit that the other man would try to steal Tommy’s creation. Just because Tommy was out didn’t mean the hotel was up for grabs!!

And Tommy.

_ “Tommy’s in jail.” _

He had chuckled at that. At first, with a little disbelief, and then with a bit of a sinking feeling. Because, well, it was  _ just  _ like Tommy to get himself in there, huh?

_ Dream is in there, forever. _

In worrying thoughts and nightmares, Tubbo has been wishing for the past week that Tommy hasn’t had to share the same cell as Dream. He knows that Sam is a stern warden, but considering some of the things Tommy has told him, he knows that the man is gentle and with a soft heart. 

Especially on days when he caught Tommy doing mundane tasks in a bit of a childish way, Sam with a voice filter and a soft voice. The man had waved to him, while Tommy was in total concentration in crafting. He had blinked once, twice, before electing to not mention it and joining Tommy in fulfilling his tasks.

_ Everyone has their own ways to cope, after all.  _

Tubbo’s is building. Tommy’s is…

Well, hopefully just as calming. 

_ His eyes pass over stacks and stacks of blackstone, of obsidian, eyeing the towers and Sam’s heavy, enchanted netherite suit.  _

_ Dream had meant to put Tommy in there. He had meant for Tubbo to die, and Tommy to go.  _

_ He swallowed down fear. Dream was not free anymore. Tommy would be okay.  _

He accidentally knocks down a tower of soft towels, just ordered for the Bee’n’Boo hotel. “Shit!” He leans down to collect them all, in their surrounding of white like snow, and fold the pieces back together. 

The wind comes knocking on the freshly installed windows, gleaming golden light through, but the boots stomping against the wood and stopping in the door of the hotel. 

Tubbo turns his head to look at the warden. 

“Oh, hey Sam!” 

Sam’s grip on the doorway tightens, His hair looks disheveled, and his eyes are wavering. 

“Sam?” Tubbo goes, his grip on the towel in his hand tightening. If he isn’t careful, he might rip it. 

Sam opens his mouth to breath, but instead, an apology comes out. 

“I’m sorry, Tubbo, I-”

Tubbo’s eyes widen. The towel rips. Outside, the wind howls.

* * *

The heat swelters, the bubbling and the boiling of the lava loud and prideful. The glow it casts upon the obsidian is nearly blinding, but it is nearly the only source of light in the cell. In the corner, a single glowstone glows, but he doesn’t like it all that much. 

He used to like to listen to the clock tick, but it had long since been burnt. He listens to his new favorite sound now, that sounds fast and as if something interesting is happening; 

_ Drip, drip, drip.  _

_ Drip, drip, drip.  _

_ Drip, drip, drip- _

The obsidian weeps, for something, but Dream doesn’t believe it’s so pitiful. 

The cell used to be quite loud, actually. A change from when Dream first arrived, from when he had hours upon hours upon hours upon hours upon hours to reflect and think in solitary. It had been a change, he thinks, when the new addition had come. Through means he did not know, one hopeful chance of his heart believing Technoblade and one other believing long lost friends. It appeared to be neither, though, for they had not come again. Possibly due to the warden, but Dream doesn’t quite believe any of  _ his  _ friends would be stopped by Sam. 

Tommy’s, possibly, but Dream had made sure to not establish any weak links.

_ Drip, drip, drip.  _

_ Drip, drip, drip. _

_ Drip, drip, dri- _

He had quite liked that cat, actually. It had been so long since he let himself attach to anything, attach to something weak and useless and endlessly loving. Poor cat, as they didn’t have much to feed it besides potatoes, but he still loved it just the same. It had been another change, like the other one, except this one was quieter and listened and fucking  _ did what it was told- _

It’s dead, now, though. He has to learn to let it go, or it will eat him alive, and he would be weak. 

And he didn’t want its death to stink up the room, so he gave it up to the lava. He’s sure Sam would appreciate his actions, as the room would be easier to clean when the time came. 

_ When  _ the time came. Tick tick tick, drip drip drip, talk talk-

He talks to himself. Because it's quiet, and there’s not much else to do. In these times, to keep sane, he listens, and he acts. He sings, and he words out plays and conversations in his head, and he daydreams about the day he’ll make his escape. 

Because Sam can’t keep him in here forever. He’s sure of it. 

_ Drip, drip, drip. _

_ Drip, drip, drip. _

_ Drip, dr- _

The drips are uneven. He knows this because he counts the seconds in between. Sometimes they take longer, and sometimes they don’t take long at all. He’s not counting for a certain portion of it, though, because some of the tears don’t reach the floor at all. 

_ Drip, drip, d- _

The body has stopped bleeding. The blue eyes are pale, and if Dream were to be naive, he would describe it as a peaceful sleep. Peaceful, and gentle, just like Dream knew he would make his way out of this world. He had always been destined for this, Dream knew, had always been destined for his death to be a final touch of the story. 

Just to be nice, though. Death isn’t beautiful when it graces the body, and Dream knows this because he has seen Death three times. 

_ Drip, drip, drip- _

Schlatt, in the van, his poor body having worked too hard.

_ Drip, drip, drip- _

Wilbur, in the broken hole, having chosen his own way out. 

_ Drip, drip, drip- _

It took ninety seconds for Tommy’s body to stop breathing.

_ Drip.  _

After a long while, the obsidian parts, but Dream knows it is not for him. He can’t see Sam yet on the other side.

“Tommy! Are you there?”

_ Drip.  _

The obsidian continues to weep. 

* * *

Warm, sturdy arms wrap around him in a comfortable embrace. It feels comforting, unalike things have been for a very long time. He has felt so, so cold. 

Wilbur sets his chin over his shoulder, practically burrowing himself in the hug. 

“It took you long enough,” Wilbur says in his ear. “Finally,  _ finally  _ you’re here.”

He opens his mouth to breathe, but nothing goes in. He opens his eyes, and they’re filled with the beyond. 

Wilbur turns his head and smiles at him. 

“Hi,” his brother says. 

Tommy blinks away stars and the sleep of death. His own grin that is growing is unbattered, unashamed, and toothy. 

“Hi, Wilbur. I missed you."

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SORRY!! but i'm not. BUT I'M SORRY!!!!!! but i'm not-


End file.
